


Not Who You Think

by pluto



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Community: sizeofthatthing, Multi, PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-20
Updated: 2010-04-20
Packaged: 2017-10-09 01:45:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/81633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pluto/pseuds/pluto
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The effects of the Immortality Gate have trickled across the universe's barriers into Pete's World, and the human Doctor finds himself in bed with someone who isn't Rose, not at all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not Who You Think

**Author's Note:**

> For the sizeofthatthing prompt: Ten II/Master; The Master's plan from The End of Time Part 1 affects the humans in the parallel world as well. While in bed with Ten II, Rose becomes the Master. And Ten II finds that he _likes_ it.

He's just inside her when it happens, just slipped inside her, tight and warm and wet and hot, when suddenly it's _tighter_ and he moans against her neck in pleasure. Presses his lips against the curve of her neck, drags them over her soft skin--

(except)

except instead of soft and yielding he finds the roughness of stubble under his bottom lip, burning slightly, finds the rise of an adam's apple under his kiss. Hears a familiar laugh before the body wrapped around him tightens further, squeezing him from base to tip as he pushes in deeper despite himself.

His eyes fly open as he sucks in a breath between his teeth, gasping raggedly at the smiling face that greets him.

"You," he hisses, "How--?"

"Why ask why?" The Master grins at him with unsuppressed pleasure. "We both know you've always wanted this."

He starts to pull free but the Master has him tangled up, rough strong hands digging into his shoulder blades where Rose's small, soft ones so recently clutched him, lean strong thighs wrapped around him. The Master cants his hips _just so_ and he slips in deeper, groaning, and it's so, so, so good. He thrusts, gritting his teeth, breathing in the distinctive scent of Time Lord beneath the Master's ear, the cool smell of the Master's sweat, so different from Rose's human pungency, from his own half-human stink. He drives himself in, draws back, drives in again and is pleased, so pleased, to hear the Master gasp under him. He rubs his cheek against the rough, sandpaper-scratch of the Master's. Reaches a hand up and fists it in the Master's bleached hair and yanks his head back, forces the Master to arch his throat, showing off his adam's apple. Feels the heat of the Master's cock between them. Definitely not Rose.

Should wonder if he's gone completely mad, if his half-Time Lord body is finally failing, but he doesn't care. He's fucking the Master.

He's _fucking_ the Master. The thought makes him laugh, makes him fuck harder, reaching up above himself to grasp the headboard, brace himself as he drives the Master back into the mattress. The springs squeak and the bedframe rocks into the wall and the Master's mocking laughter has fallen away, has made way for needy, throaty moans. He loves the sound of it, makes him so hard, makes him so close. Presses his mouth against the Master's racing four-beat pulse, drumming in counterpoint to his freakish single heart beat, revels in it, envies it, desires to become it.

And then, all unexpected, gasped out as Rose never would, half-prayer, half-protest: "Doctor!"

Feels the heat against his belly before he comes himself, comes inside the Master, burying his face against the curve of the Master's shoulder, clutching him. Finds the Master's mouth, kisses him, is greedily kissed back.

If he's gone mad, he thinks, he doesn't mind. He doesn't mind at all.


End file.
